The Boy with Cold Eyes
by Aduan
Summary: While Rukawa always seems aloof, he was still willing to help Sakuragi improve his skills in basketball with his taunts and small hints. Why? The story is set during the period of time between the Toyotama and Sannoh matches.(non-yaoi)


Disclaimers: This story is just a work of fiction. Any coincidences relating to real persons or events are purely coincidental, and the characters in this story do not belong to me. They belong to the creators of Slam Dunk.  
  
Note: I haven't finished reading the entire set of Slam Dunk mangas, so please forgive me if I made some errors with the facts. Also, the grammatical errors are all mine, since I haven't asked any of my buddies to proof-read it for me. Other than that, please enjoy the story, and feel free to send in any comments etc. Thanks!  
  
The boy with cold eyes  
  
I used to be this way.  
  
I used to enjoy laughing at simple jokes, or at something that my friend said. I used to show all my feelings and emotions on my face. . .like Sakuragi Hanamichi.  
  
I can almost see the baka right now, laughing at what his best friend, Youhei is saying. By the way he acts now, no one would have guessed that he has a volatile temper. Most of the time he acts like a happy, carefree teenager, but his mood can change just as quickly when situations arise. Sometimes, I can understand why his mood changes so drastically, and I admire him for that.  
  
I lost the ability to display all my emotions honestly a long time ago while he is still able to project all his emotions on his face. Mine had already become an aloof mask, a mask to hide all my emotions and thoughts from the entire world.  
  
I used to be like him, a simple secondary school student who enjoyed playing basketball, and beating up guys who deserved it. I used to have a best friend, who went to all my games and cheered me on when I was feeling down, and yelled at me to be at my best when I was under- performing.  
  
That was. . .until three years ago.  
  
My best friend often came over to my home for dinner, since his own father worked late into the night, not returning home until around one or two in the morning. I knew the reason why. It was the same reason why my own father rarely came home.  
  
His mother had died due to cancer when he was six. My mother was divorced from my father, and had remarried, so I hardly saw her. We were both living with only our fathers, so it was not difficult to understand why we became good friends.  
  
We played together, studied in the same school, and cheered each other on in the other's games. We even shared the same interests. We loved cats. He often came over to my house to play with Kit, my black cat with emerald eyes. And we would work on our homework until eleven in the evening, when I would walk him home, before returning to my chores around the house.  
  
It was a simple and yet satisfying life. . .  
  
. . .Until he got knocked down by a car, while he was on his way to one of my games. It was the quarter finals, and our school team was the hot favourite to win the game.  
  
It was only until the end of the game that I realised that the voice was missing. That voice that never failed to capture my attention. . .to annoy me and push me further, was actually missing. Then my coach motioned me over, while the entire hall was alive with cheers and screams, as our team emerged victorious.  
  
However, all the screaming and cheering could not seem to get through my state of numbness when my coach told me that my best friend, the brother I never had, was in the hospital. . .in critical condition.  
  
"Hey, Rukawa, why are you still standing there? The game's starting."  
  
Snapped out of my thoughts momentarily, I fixed my gaze at the speaker, and gave a curt nod as I followed Mitsui to the court for our practice match, before we went against Sannoh.  
  
As Ayako blew the whistle, and Anzai sensei watched on, the game was in motion.  
  
My best friend died that night, while our team was in a celebration mood for having managed to get into the semi-finals for the first time.  
  
I was sitting in the hospital, staring at the monitor, not believing that my best friend could leave me at a time like this, while the basketball team was celebrating. And all because of a stupid drunk driver who drove past the red lights. He didn't even look back as my friend lay dying in a pool of his own blood.  
  
I never truly recovered from that incident, though I never was given the chance to do so in the first place. No one paid too much attention to me, Rukawa Kaede, the boy whose friend died recently, as all efforts were put into training Rukawa Kaede, the potential star basketball player to perform to his best.  
  
And I did.  
  
While my teammates trained for four hours a day, I did six, and nearly ten on weekends. I practically ignored my studies, pouring all my grief and hopes into basketball, to perform to my best, because I believed that it was the only way that I could remember my best friend by.  
  
During all my games, I could almost hear him shouting at me to move faster, to block my opponents, or rebuke me when I was caught off guard. And it was only during all my games that I could shut the entire world out, when there were only my opponents and my faithful friend, who would never fail to turn up.  
  
Kit seemed to understand when my best friend died, and mewed softly when I returned from the hospital the next day, jumping up into my arms, as if trying to console me by rubbing his head against my shirt. When he too left me two years later, I was already amongst the best in my district, and my school team was considered to be one of the strongest as well.  
  
I had fame because I was amongst the best, but I had no friends. I had no time for friends, since I was always running off to practice my shots after school, and I slept during classes. No one would want to befriend a boy who was only good in basketball and nothing else, although many of the girls in my school seemed to think likewise.  
  
They seemed to think of me as a mysterious, good looking boy who was extremely good in basketball, and whose shots were made gracefully, neglecting to see me as myself. All they were interested in was Rukawa Kaede, the Ace, and not Rukawa Kaede alone. Seeing their dreamy gazes, as well as all the cards, chocolates and flowers they gave to me, only served to repulse me further.  
  
And I shut myself further away from the world, seeking refuge from everything behind that mask of mine. I knew that by not befriending anyone, I would be able to prevent my heart from getting broken again. And by being cold and aloof, the girls would probably leave me alone.  
  
But it also left me with plenty of competition. Fights were more common than ever, and I only returned home late at night, since my father was hardly home nowadays. He preferred to stay at his company, to work until he fell asleep from exhaustion, just so he could forget his wife. I was quite fine with that, since all he ever did was just yell at me or get himself drunk senseless. Only on very rare occasions would we gather for a quiet dinner in the evening, and only on days when I didn't have practices and when he wasn't drunk. I learned to treasure those days even more.  
  
When I graduated with average grades and entered Shohoku High, the same cycle began again. At least, that was what I thought, until one person managed to change that. Sakuragi Hanamichi.  
  
That baka red-head head-butted me the first day I met him on the roof top, and that idiot actually had the audacity to join the basketball team when he had no skills to speak of, not to mention he only joined it because of Akagi's sister, Haruko.  
  
However, that changed when he managed to pick up the skills quite quickly, and when he started to argue with me on and off court. He didn't seem to think of me as some star that many believed me to be, and he seemed to enjoy the competition as much as the arguments.  
  
Make no mistake, he hated me for catching Haruko's attention, but I enjoyed the competition. And he behaved much like I did in the past, that I had to humour him, because I was like him then. I had a cold fire within me, driving me to be the best. Though his motives were entirely different from mine, I could not ignore that same fire within the eyes so similar to my own in the past, when my best friend was still alive.  
  
So we fought, each wanting to outdo the other, to capture the spectators' attentions during competitions. He wouldn't pass the ball to me, and I would prove to him that my shots were superior to his, and the arguments would continue.  
  
It was a special kind of 'friendship', since neither of us would admit truthfully that ours were more of a kind of sibling rivalry than that between two enemies, and we would look out for each other, trading insults to 'encourage' the other to do better than that, with him calling himself the 'Tensai' and bragging that he was better than me, while I called him 'Do-aho' or some other comment that fit the situation.  
  
It was only then that I realised that he had gradually taken the place of my best friend. With all his insults and the competition, he had managed to do something that no one had been able to do after my friend's death. He had helped me to heal, by slowly helping me to forget, to lay to rest that voice that followed me since the death of my best friend.  
  
And I realised that when I played basketball nowadays, that voice was missing. . .no, it was being replaced by the unlikeliest of persons, Sakuragi Hanamichi; that do-aho. . .that idiot who enjoyed calling himself a tensai.  
  
So I began to replay the past confrontations, all the exchanges of insults, and realised that I hadn't noticed my friend's voice for a few months already, and the nightmares that used to haunt me nearly every night had stopped occurring since last month.  
  
Here I am, right now, playing basketball, trading insults with the self-proclaimed Tensai, trying to understand him better. No, I wasn't going to befriend him outright, he would sooner laugh at my attempt than do anything else. We would be better off as 'siblings', with all the insults as extremely indirect forms of encouragement, to drive each other to be at his best.  
  
And maybe, someday, we could become friends, sort of, though the thought of being friends with that red-head is still not something on my to-do list at the moment. Until then, we would remain as the infamous duo in the Shohoku basketball team who are polar opposites, as night is opposed to day.  
  
And I'll continue wondering why that baka was able to help me let go of my grief, when all the words of the counsellors hadn't helped me one bit. Perhaps he is a tensai. . .in some ways. Not that I would tell him that of course. That do-aho has one of the biggest egos in the whole world, any bigger and it would explode, not forgetting to mention that I have a reputation to look after. . .  
  
. . .Rukawa Kaede simply does not compliment anyone, much less his on-off court 'enemy'.  
  
"Oi, you stupid kitsune! Haha. . .you must be cowering in fear of me, the great Tensai! Myhahaha!" His rude voice once again managing to draw me back to the present.  
  
I sighed inwardly, cringing at the sound of his laughter. My left eye, although had healed somewhat, was twitching slightly at the noise he was making. Irritated, I glared at him before retorting, "Do-aho. I was thinking."  
  
"Thinking?" With one eyebrow raised nearly to his hairline, Sakuragi Hanamichi was laughing loudly, before I gave an audible sigh, shaking my head slightly as I walked back to my position on the court as the game restarted.  
  
"Unfortunately, do-ahos like you will never understand such a concept."  
  
"Nani?! Teme kitsune!"  
  
The insult-trading game was on once again, as Ayako blew the whistle to continue the game while Akagi gave the two of us a knock on the head each for arguing in court.  
  
Rubbing my head ruefully as I concentrated once again on the game at hand, I realised that for once in my life since the death of my best friend, I felt strangely at peace.  
  
Owari. 


End file.
